


that you can mend a heart that's frail and torn

by PrincezzShell101



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3x07, Derek POV, Episode Tag, I'm Sorry, M/M, Spoilers for episode 307, Spurred on by, and how Derek blames himself for everything, mentions character death, mentions of Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincezzShell101/pseuds/PrincezzShell101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles tries his best to comfort Derek after the events of 3x07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that you can mend a heart that's frail and torn

_Death_. Death is something that Derek Hale has come to realise, never seems to leave him alone. It seeks him out like a moth to a flame. It's a force of nature, yes, but sometimes Derek feels like it's some sort of witches' curse that trails after him wherever he goes. He can place it back all the way from the beginning; the first  ~~death~~  deaths that'd been caused by  _his_ actions.  

When Kate had walked into his life, he'd thought that he had  _finally_ gained something special; someone who could actually like him for who he was, no matter if he happened to turn furry, fanged and glowing-eyed once in a while. He'd believed that she cared about him,  _loved_ him… but that was all a lie. She'd swindled her way into his heart, blinded him from the  _truth_  with her promises and affectionate drawls of how good they were together, that she could see them being together for ' _a_ _very long time_ '. She'd been devious and clever by saying things she must have  _known_ would get him all dreamy and puppy-eyed over her, things that would mask her treacherous scheme that she'd had planned all from the start.

Derek had found out, eventually, that Kate was nothing but a cold-hearted bitch of a monster who used false  _everything_  to get what she desired. She never liked him, never cared for him, never  _loved_ him. All she'd wanted was to burn his family alive and destroy every single thing that was most precious to him. He'd only been a kid. A dumb, small-minded kid who'd thought that he'd found  _the one_. But in the end he was nothing but a fool. A fool blinded by love, that had managed to get his whole family (excluding his big sister and his uncle) killed. And all for what?  _Her?_

There's nothing, even now, that can lessen the pain and guilt he feels over what he's done.

But tonight though, yet another death had been caused.

Again, it's  _all his fault_.

He's the one who challenged Kali, what with his threat of ripping he throat out with his teeth. What the  _fuck_  was he thinking? That he'd  _win_? That the battle would turn out the way he'd wanted it to? Whatever he'd been thinking, was  _stupid_.

Boyd is now dead because of his actions and his loft is practically an in-ground swimming pool.

Everything is wrong. Everything is fucking  _wrong_  damn it, and it's  _his fault_.

"Derek?"

That voice is probably the only thing that Derek can hear other than the pounding of his heart in his ribcage and the  _drip, drip, drop_  of the water that is still soaking through the loft's timber floors. The voice is usually up-beat, sarcastic and smart-witted—now it is soft and timid, spoken so quietly that if Derek weren't a werewolf, he wouldn't have  _possibly_ heard it.

 _Stiles_ , his mind supplies.  _Stiles is still here_.

He'd expected the kid to have left by now, with Scott perhaps. The young beta had been pretty upset after he'd had to carry out Boyd's waterlogged corpse.

 _But no_ , he thinks.  _He's still here_.

"What, Stiles?" He's surprised about his own voice, actually. It is usually strong, maintained and steady—now it's nothing of the sort, it is cracked and broken and filled with regret that nothing, not even  _time_ , he knows, can make disappear.

He hears the squelch of rubber soles and the light splashing of water before there's a firm, yet gentle touch placed on his shoulder. It's comforting, but also feels like the owner of the touch isn't sure whether or not what they are doing is going to help.

 _It does_ , Derek thinks gratefully.  _It does help_.

"Derek, are… are you okay?" The voice, this time, is hesitant—it's like the person who's said it is not at all convinced that what they've asked is acceptable in a time such as this. Derek, in this moment, thinks the same way. But he knows that Stiles is socially awkward in situations that involve this particular amount of comfort, so he lets it slide.

"He's dead. Stiles, he's  _dead_  and it's my fault," he chokes,  _knows_ that he sounds pitiful and defeated but can't find it in himself to care.

"It's not, Derek. It's not your fault." The hand on his shoulder  _squeezes_  and Derek feels maybe a little of the guilt wash away. But  _no_ , no it's not enough. It'll  _never_ be enough.

"Yes it  _is_. It's  _my_ fault!" He's yelling now, shoulders racking as he fights back a sob because he  _can't_ cry, not now, not  _ever._  He's the alpha, and alphas don't cry.

The person standing next to him is shuffling their feet awkwardly and the water around them is rippling. Derek watches the liquid patterns swirl and he pretends he doesn't see the drop of a tear fall in and mix with the murky water pooling at his knees.

"It's not your fault, Derek. You couldn't have known. Couldn't… couldn't have stopped it.  _Ethan_ and  _Aiden_ did it, Derek.  _They_  did it.  _Not you_." The voice trails off into an angry, spitted hiss, and Derek is surprised. Stiles is always calm, and the times he has been  _this_ angry are few. "So stop blaming yourself, okay? Because  _none of this_  is your fault."

Derek finds himself being hugged, arms wrapping around his torso, and he's too tired, too depressed to do anything but let the force pull him back into a warm, sturdy chest. He closes his eyes, focuses on Stiles's heartbeat that he can hear through the thin, damp material of the shirt he's wearing, letting the steady rhythm of it soothe his soul that's still tearing up painfully inside him.

"None of this is your fault, Derek. All right?  _None of this_ , is your fault," the voice whispers. Hands are rubbing small, gentle circles into his back, and there's a chin resting atop his head, where he can feel the bob of Stiles's Adam's apple as the teen swallows, along with the beat of his heart.

 _This isn't going to drown the guilt_ , Derek thinks.  _But it's enough_.

**Author's Note:**

> Title was taken from Worn by Tenth Avenue North. I listened to the song while writing this. I suggest you listen to the song while reading this too, it makes the story more feelsy.


End file.
